Cycles
by Gryphinwyrm7
Summary: Arthur and Griff continue searching for Merlin, this time traveling to Ireland following a lead Griff got at Glastonbury Tor. But it seems that not all myths on the Emerald Isle are meant to slumber forever
1. Slumber

**Cycles**

If we shadows have offended,  
Think but this, and all is mended,  
That you have but slumber'd here  
While these visions did appear.  
And this weak and idle theme,  
No more yielding but a dream,  
Gentles, do not reprehend:  
if you pardon, we will mend:

 **December 13** **th** **, 1998**

 _ **Knight's Spur**_ **Just outside of London**

"Of all of the wonders of God's creation," Arthur said quietly. "This is by far one of my favorites."

"It is something that I haven't really appreciated in a long time," Fleur replied quietly.

The two royals stood atop the country estate known as _Knight's Spur_ watching the setting sun. Scattered about the rooftop, and even in the gardens and along the gravel driveway down below, were over 200 stone statues of heraldic beasts, with wings flared and fangs bared.

"I think that more of a marvel to me," Fleur said. "Is how this clan survived all this time, in the heart of one of the world's biggest cities, and not once did the Illuminati ever catch wind of it."

"You said your friend kept them hidden for his brother's sake," Arthur pointed out.

"Mycroft is hardly a friend," Fleur said. "And he's only been alive for the past 150 years. This clan is much, much older. They look like…"

"Yes," Arthur said. "I am personally convinced that the London Clan is descended from the Clan that once dwelt in Camelot."

"That would explain why Duval didn't know about them," Fleur agreed. "After Camlann, like everyone else, the Clan abandoned Camelot. Gargoyles became hunted in that time…We all assumed that the Camelot Clan fell victim to the survivors of Mordred's army. It pleases me to know that we were wrong."

A lattice of cracks began to form on the statue nearest to Arthur, a griffin-shaped grotesque with a mohawk. Then the boar-like statue next to him. The Stag-like one opposite her.

The younger looking Unicornesque statue next to Fleur, and the older hippogriff-like statue resting on a stone cane beside her.

Fleur sucked in her breath. Arthur was right; this was the best part.

With a triumphant roar, Griff burst forth from his stone shell, sending shards of stone skin flying. Seconds later, Staghart broke free from his own stone prison. Then Coco, Lunette, and Pog, all two hundred and twenty-one gargoyles ranging in ages from 200 years old to the hatchlings that hatched a mere 9 months earlier.

"Good evening, your majesties," Griff said, cloaking his wings and bowing to the pair.

Fleur sighed, but knew that arguing semantics about her royal status with Griff was useless at this point. The gargoyle knight refused to refer to her as anything but 'your majesty' or 'Queen Fleur'.

"Oi!" Coco exclaimed, moving past Fleur and glomping onto the arm of one of her rookery brothers. "Liam! Tonight's the night, right?"

"Yeah!" Staghart exclaimed, glomping onto the other arm of his blue-furred rookery brother. "Tonight, right!"

Leomaris, better known among his rookery siblings as "Liam" was a blue furred leonine gargoyle with distinctive aquatic features, fan-like ears and a fish-like fluke at the end of his tail. He looked slightly put off by his two rookery siblings draping themselves on his arms.

"Yes," he said. "Tonight's the night. Indian food. Mandy and her mother should already be here, to help us with the recipes."

"The young lady and her mother arrived an hour ago," Arthur said, giving Liam a courtly bow. "They await your presence in the kitchen."

Liam paled. "They…They're already there? Bhors is gonna love that."

"Let the old sot fume," Staghart said. "If he had his way, we'd be eating roast beef and cabbage for dinner tonight. Like we do every Sunday. Forget that. I like the variety!"

"Staghart," Coco said, only half-teasing. "Bhors is still your rookery da. Show him some respect."

"Mince-pie Mondays," Staghart replied.

"Never mind," Coco said, gagging slightly.

"You know, Liam," Staghart said. "I have got to introduce you to Lexington's rookery brother Broadway. The stuff he served at Goliath and Elisa's commitment ceremony STILL makes my mouth water. I'd love to see you reproduce it over here."

"Maybe some day," Liam said. "Uh…I don't see Bhors…Did he turn to stone in the kitchens again?"

Coco, Staghart and Liam all suddenly exchanged a very worried glance.

"GO!" Coco snapped. "Damage control, ASAP!"

Liam dropped to all fours and bounded down the stairwell.

Arthur chuckled to himself as the various gargoyles began taking off to relax, or begin their chores, or patrols.

"So where are we off to now, your majesty?" Griff inquired.

"Pardon?" Arthur said frowning.

"When you're doing research on Merlin, you're usually down in the library when I awaken," Griff said. "But when you've got a quest in mind, you're up here when the sun sets."

Arthur chuckled again. "You know me well, my friend."

"We have been on this quest for almost two years now," Griff replied. "I like to think I've gotten to know my king fairly well."

"I fear we have exhausted every avenue that the Library has to offer," Arthur said. "There's just not enough information there to find Merlin. So I think that it's time that we followed up on your lead from Glastonbury Tor. Perhaps the image that you saw in the carving truly was Merlin."

"There's another reason too, isn't there?" Griff asked.

"You _do_ know me well, Sir Griff," Arthur said. "That storm on the night of the Hunter's Moon concerns me. I should very much like to know what caused it, and better still, what ended it."

"So," Griff said, smiling. "Ireland then."

"I've arranged for you two to use my private yacht," Fleur said. "You can take it from Cardiff to Belfast, and travel overland from there."

"You make it sound as if you're not coming," Griff said.

"I'm not," Fleur said, looking wistful. "I have some loose ends in France that are demanding to be tied up. I can't put them off anymore."

"We understand, Milady," Arthur said, placing a reassuring hand on Fleur's shoulder. "Stay safe."

"I'm more worried about the two of you," Fleur said. "Grace O'Malley is an Irish Illuminatus, and she monitors all the ports in Ireland. Keep a very low profile, so that she doesn't catch wind of you."

"Then we shall see you at Quest's End, Queen Blanchefleur," Arthur said, bowing and kissing Fleur's hand.

Griff crouched down low, and Arthur gripped his friend's back. The griffin-like gargoyle took off, gliding towards the city proper. Leaving Fleur not-quite alone on the rooftop.

The French queen glanced over at the one gargoyle remaining. A silver and grey looking leonine gargoyle. He looked to be in his early 50s, so Fleur guessed Leo, Una, and Griff's generation, the 1898 rookery.

His outfit was green and black, and she noticed a Browning 9mm strapped to a holster on his chest, and a sword sheath attached to his side. She'd seen him before, in passing, but hadn't met him formally. Normally he wore a perpetual scowl on his face, but tonight it looked different. Sad and wistful somehow. He stared blankly at the waning crescent moon in the sky.

Fleur hesitated, but then quietly approached the grey colored gargoyle.

"Are you all right?" Fleur asked softly.

"December 15th, 1940," the grey gargoyle said, quietly.

" _Pardon?_ " Fleur asked, lapsing into her French accent.

"I met my mate, Selkie, on December 15th, 1940." He repeated. "Two nights from now ought to be our 58th anniversary."

"I'm sorry…" Fleur said. "When did she pass away?"

"She didn't," the grey gargoyle grunted. "She left me. I don't know why, and I don't know where. She just…Left me."

Fleur fell quiet. The pain that this gargoyle was feeling. It was all too familiar to her.

"The man I loved left me too," she said, guardedly. "Not…not in the same way, but…"

"Well then," he said, standing up, he gave the human a sort of half-hearted smile. "I guess we're just two peas in a pod then."

"I am Fleur," she said.

"I know," he replied. "Leonidas. Like the Greek king."

"If you ever want to talk about it," Fleur said.

"Likewise," he replied, grunting, and sliding past her, making his way towards the stairwell.

"Wow," Lunette said, the younger gargoyle coming in for a landing next to Fleur, she had been gliding overhead.

"I've never seen him open up like that to _anyone._ " Lunette said.

"Didn't your rookery mothers ever tell you that it's not polite to eavesdrop?" Fleur inquired.

Lunette stuck her tongue out at Fleur, and then took off again.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 **December 14** **th** **, 1998**

 **Northern Coast of Ireland**

Grace O'Malley looked over the paperwork on her desk in her private quarters aboard the _Wave Sweeper_ , her private luxury yacht, free floating about a half-mile off of the coast of Ireland. She looked up and frowned hearing the telltale signs of a second boat pulling up next to her own.

She glanced out the porthole. There was an island off the starboard bow that simply hadn't been there before.

Eastcheap Island.

She quickly exited her quarters and made her way up to the deck.

An olive-skinned man dressed in a silver and black suit with a green ascot stood on the deck. A pin with the All-Seeing Eye was visible on his ascot.

He rested comfortably on a cane with a large emerald topping it.

"Seven," Grace said, recognizing Watson Doyle.

"Five," he responded.

"What brings you my wee corner of the ocean, Watson?" Grace asked.

"Arthur Pendragon," the dapper man replied. "He's finally been spotted by one of my contacts."

The hunt for King Arthur was public knowledge among the top ten tiers of the Illuminati, being priority number one for the organization. But as wide a net as the Society was able to cast; there were still holes that Arthur repeatedly slipped through.

Watson handed Grace a file folder.

"The harbormaster in Cardiff saw this yacht depart mere hours ago. The yacht is property of _Sangral_ Fashions—Fleur's company—and the manifest says its destination is Belfast."

"The Once and Future King has come to Ireland," Grace said, sounding far more amused than Watson was.

Watson glared at the shaven-headed woman.

"I don't need to remind you," he said. "That king Arthur is a very high priority for the Society. And if he starts mucking around in our business in Ireland…"

"No," she said coldly. "You don't need to remind me. And don't worry, Watson. I know just the person to deal with the so called king of the British…"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 **December 14** **th** **, 1998**

 **Liscoo, Ireland**

Rory Dugan stepped out of the kitchen, and was surprised to be greeted by a kiss on the cheek from Molly.

"Molly!" Rory exclaimed, taking note of the mistletoe that hung over the kitchen door. "Your lips! Did you…"

She shook her head and then gave him an odd sort of smile, showing her teeth. Her jaw was simply wired shut.

"Well," Rory frowned. "Maybe if we got some wire cutters…"

She shook her head again and then signed to him in ISL.

 _I had a hard enough time getting it to shapeshift into this form on its own. If it perceives some sort of attack, it may never transform into a manageable shape again._

"And you're still not going to tell me how you got it in the first place," Rory said.

"If you two are quite done making goo-goo eyes at each other," Rory's father said, standing next to the Christmas tree. "This tree won't decorate itself."

Molly ignored Rory, taking a Christmas ornament out of a box by Sean Dugan's easy chair and hanging it on the tree by the fireplace.

Rory sighed half-heartedly and sat on Barghest's stone form, which was sitting upright next to his father's chair. Getting Molly to open up was about as easy as actually removing the muzzle over her mouth.

"Fine," Rory said. "If you don't want to talk about-."

He stopped abruptly. He felt a familiar pull, like the one that had drawn him to Cairn na Chullain.

A vision appeared before his face. He was Cu Chullain, younger though. Without the armor and mustache. Beside him was his friend Lugaid Red-Stripe. The pair of them stood before the Lia Fáil and the stone would not speak. He raised Gae Bolga in anger…

And the vision disappeared.

Rory had been snapped back to reality. He looked around to see his father and Molly were now both at his side, looking very worried.

 _Vision?_ Molly signed questioningly.

Rory nodded. "I saw the Lia Fáil. The day that I…Or…Cu…Cleaved it in half. I think I'm needed there."

"You've a couple hours before sunset," Sean Dugan said, checking his watch. "Best get packed now. Meath's a fair distance from here. I'll make you some sandwiches from the leftover roast beef from last night. Molly, be a dear and fetch the cooler from the car."

Molly nodded, looking at Rory, who was still clutching his head.

"And here's an Advill for the headache," Sean said, returning to the den, and handing the bottle to Rory.

"Modern medicine to deal with ancient magic," Sean chuckled to himself.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 **December 14** **th** **1998**

 _ **Sangral Fashion International HQ,**_ **Paris, France**

Fleur sucked in a deep breath and walked inside the building. The exterior was chic and trendy, and covered with gargoyles. The statues, not actual gargoyles, though some were carved to resemble Tamora and other gargoyle Illuminatus, just in case they were in Paris and wanted a place to roost where they wouldn't stand out. Not that a gargoyle ever stood out in Paris, most building were covered with gargoyles of some fashion or another.

 _Sangral Fashion International_ was the 8th ranked fashion company in the world, and that was nothing to sneeze at in the long run. It had existed since the First World War, and was Fleur's personal passion project.

She had poured her heart and soul into the company, the first real passion that she had felt in several centuries. Since the dissolution of her marriage. She vaguely wondered for the zillionth time as she walked past the walls of fabric and sewing machines, why she simply didn't just get a divorce.

Of course the answer to that was simple enough. Her husband was old fashioned. Fifth Century old fashioned. A divorce would be unthinkable to him, and would make him quite angry.

Truth be told, she didn't care much for the idea herself. Fifteen centuries of drinking of the Grail had not really tempered her own faith. She still considered herself a practicing, if somewhat lapsed Christian. Divorce was not considered acceptable to her own mentality either. Though despite that, she wondered…

She'd abandoned SFI when she began seeking out King Arthur upon learning he had awakened. It was time that she returned and got her company back in order. Not that she didn't trust Samantha to run the company in her absense. Samantha was her personal assistant and the only other Illuminatus within the company. And possibly her only real friend within the Society.

The Illuminati had no hand in SFI, despite the oh-so-clever-name. Fleur had founded and created it herself. As well as set up safeguards that only someone with her knowledge could. She vetted every employee down to the custodians personally. Her income from the company was directly deposited in a Swiss bank account that only she could access. The company was hers. The Society might take advantage of it during a gala or fashion show to rub elbows with the fashion elite, or the Parisian upper crust but at the end of the day, the company was wholly in Fleur's hands, and they couldn't touch it.

Fleur slumped down into her chair at her desk, which was undisturbed. She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. Wondering vaguely about her future and the future of her company now that she had cast her lot with Arthur. The status quo she had enjoyed for so long was not going to maintain this way.

A delicious smell wafted past her nose. She opened her eyes and frowned.

"Dark coffee with cream, no sugar," Samantha said. "And one _croissant_ from the bakery on _Rue de Coccinelle_ that you are so fond of."

"Samantha," Fleur said blinking. "How did you know I was back?"

"I didn't until I came in this morning, Madam," she responded. "I've just been getting your usual every morning, hoping that you would be here."

Fleur eyed the younger woman. She appeared to be nineteen years old—an illusion, Samantha was no more 19 than she was 23—with steel grey eyes and blond hair in a pixie cut. She was wearing a chiffon blouse and skirt, and held a clipboard in her left hand.

"It has been some time…" Fleur said quietly.

"Two years is nothing to us," Samantha said. "The winter fashion line will be ready just in time for Christmas, and the spring fashion is in the final design stages, awaiting your approval."

"Don't you want to talk about the elephant in the room, Samantha?" Fleur asked.

Samantha stiffened. "I'm certain I don't know what you mean, Madam."

"Does Duval know I'm here?" Fleur asked.

"Do you want him to know?" Samantha replied.

"No."

"Then I see no reason to tell him," Samantha said. "Now, on to more important matters. The Spring Line requires your approval."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 **December 15** **th** **1998**

 **Meath, Ireland**

"I'm sorry girls," Rory said in an apologetic tone. "Seems like this was a dead end."

Barghest snuffled along the ground around the base of the Lía Fail, as though she had caught wind of some something interesting.

"I dragged you all out here for nothing," Rory continued. Molly tapped his shoulder, and pulled him closer to the stone.

Rory glanced back at her, wondering what it was that she wanted. He quietly approached the stone.

 _Cu Chullain approached the Lía Fail with Lugaid Red-Stripe at his side._

 _"Once the Stone confirms you as the king," Cu said. "None will stand before your armies."_

 _Lugaid smirked at his friend. "First the stone will have to confirm my claim. No guarantee that the stone will roar."_

 _"I can't imagine the stone not confirming you," Cu said, embracing Lugaid for a moment, and then breaking the embrace. Red-Stripe approached the Stone, and placed a foot atop it._

 _The stone was silent._

 _Cu's rage began to boil._

" **You're not going to break me in half, again, are you Rory Dugan?** " the Lía Fail said, a soft blue glow emanating from the stone.

Rory jumped back in surprise. Molly smirked at him, silently laughing at his reaction.

"You…You can talk?" Rory said.

" **Of course,** " the stone said. " **Just because I didn't when Lugaid Riab nDerg sought my approval for kingship, does not mean I am incapable of speaking. I was silent because Lugaid was not meant to be king."**

"Er…Sorry about the whole…Breaking you in half thing," Rory said abashedly, rubbing the back of his neck.

" **I am the Spirit of Destiny, Rory Dugan,"** the Stone said. " **You merely broke a rock in half. I am more than simple stone. You do not posses the power to break me."**

"Right," Rory said, noticing Barghest wandering away from him, sniffing at the ground.

" **You have a question, Rory Dugan?** " The stone asked.

"If you're the Spirit of Destiny," Rory admitted. "Then…What's mine exactly? There's not exactly a training scheme for this sort of hero work. I'm sorta just…Running around Ireland putting out fires. But I sort of feel like…There's…A bigger picture I'm missing?"

Molly looked almost surprised by Rory's words. She placed a hand on his shoulder to comfort him.

The stone seemed to consider Rory's words, as if contemplating them itself.

" **Your former Master, from your past life is in Ireland,** " the Stone said. " **He stands not far from this place even now. And soon he will be in danger. He changes the web of fate as he moves. Altering its course with each passing day. With him you may find the answers you seek.** "

"My Master from my past life?" Rory said, looking confused. "Cu found himself beholden to more than a few masters in his lifetime, but most of them died. Could they have reincarnated too?"

" **I was not speaking of Cu Chullain, Rory Dugan,** " the stone said. " **Do you think that this life is the first time you have been reborn since you were the Hero of Ulster?** "

Rory Dugan was speechless. Even Molly seemed taken aback.

Barghest on the other hand suddenly seemed certain of whatever scent she had caught. She squatted down and tilted her head back and howled to get _her_ master's attention.

The sound immediately grabbed Rory's attention, turning it away from the stone. He turned towards his pet just in time for the dawn's rays to breach the horizon and freeze Barghest in stone.

He groaned in annoyance. Barghest seldom howled unless it was important.

Molly suddenly tapped Rory's shoulder. He spun back to the stone just in time to see the blue glow fade away in the early morning light. He groaned again.

 _Half a kilometer away…_

Sir Griff and Arthur's heads snapped upward.

"That sounded like a gargoyle beast's howl," Arthur said turning towards his knight, and frowning as Griff's equally surprised expression became etched on his stone face for the day.

Griff had been in his usual kneeling position. Arthur shrugged and sat down on the dewy grass next to his knight. He leaned against Griff's now-stone wing and closed his eyes, intending to sleep.

"Don't be nodding off just yet, British Dog," a voice declared. Arthur was on his feet in an instant.

A blond Irishwoman with an eyepatch over her left eye and a right arm that appeared to be solid silver was approaching her.

"I have no quarrel with you, Milady," Arthur said, guardedly. But his warrior's senses were tingling. His hand now gripped his sword.

"But I have a quarrel with you," she smirked back. "Oh 'Once and Future King of Britain'. And any other British curs who dare to set foot on Irish soil. Legendary royalty or not."

Arthur's eyes widened.

"If you know who I am," Arthur started to say, but got no further. The woman lunged at Arthur. Sensing the opportunity to draw her away from his gargoyle companion, Arthur did a duck and roll past her as she lunged, winding up behind her.

Arthur drew Excalibur. Electrical energy surrounding the blade as he did.

"Nice sword," Arthur's assailant said, smirking. "Let me show you mine."

Her silver arm began glowing royal purple, morphing and warping, like it was made of liquid metal. It reshaped itself into the form of an Irish broadsword, a mirror of Arthur's blade.

Arthur didn't have time to look surprised as the woman moved like lightning, bringing her blade against his almost too quickly for him to react.

 _Half a Kilometer away…_

Rory Dugan bent down and placed a hand on Barghest's stone, tilted back head.

He clutched his head in surprise as another vision of the past, _his past_ swam past his head.

But this was no vision of Cu Chullain, the Hero of Ulster. Not of fighting the Banshee or his faithful hound at his side.

In _this_ past he stood wearing green armor in a massive court. Stained glass windows sparkling and light streamed through them. Dazzling colors danced on the gigantic wooden table in front of him.

A mirthful bearded man with sparking eyes greeted him.

"Uncle!" Rory's past self said, embracing the man.

Rory's vision faded returning him to the present.

"Well that's different," he murmured.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 **December 14** **th** **1998**

 _ **Nightstone's Coffeehouse across the street from Sangral Fashion International HQ,**_ **Paris, France**

"What did I do to deserve a friend like you?" Fleur wondered out loud.

"There was the whole saving me from being burned at the stake, for one," Sam said dryly as she nibbled at her cheese.

"That doesn't even out," Fleur said. "Someone else still died. God…I can't even remember her name."

"Eloise," Sam said, stirring her drink. "I will never forget her."

"I knew you wouldn't," Fleur replied quietly. "You've done a fantastic job with my company."

"You laid the groundwork, I just followed policy." Sam said, opening her purse and taking out her credit card to pay for their meal.

Fleur caught a glimpse of a bottle in Sam's purse.

"Clozapine," Fleur said. "So you're still…"

"Yes Fleur," Sam replied.

"It's not a curse, you know," Fleur said. "It's a very rare gift. You were one of the last to receive it."

"Gift or not," Sam said. "I don't want it. So I suppress it."

"It's your life, Jeanne," Fleur said calling her by her real name. "I don't have the right to interfere…Or judge. But I think you're making a mistake."

"But it's my mistake to make," Sam replied. "Just as…"

"You think I'm making a mistake too," Fleur said. "Because I've cast my lot in with King Arthur."

"I didn't say that," Sam said, averting Fleur's gaze.

"But you do, don't you?" Fleur said. "You know that there was a time when Duval was loyal to Arthur? A time when he wouldn't have hesitated to follow Arthur's lead and fight Saxons, Romans, and monsters at Arthur's side?"

"Times change," Sam said. "We're looking at the bigger picture here Fleur."

"So am I," Fleur said. "Maybe for the first time in 1500 years."

"Fleur," Sam said. "Everything that the Society has planned goes out the window if Arthur starts mucking about with what we laid down."

"The difference is, Jeanne," Fleur said. "I think that's a good thing"

"Fleur…This is the Fate of the World we're talking about here!"

"For what does it profit a man to gain the whole world," Fleur quoted. "But to lose his soul in the process. Mark 8:36."

Sam nearly dropped her coffee cup.

"I haven't heard you quote scripture since you recruited me…"

"A wise woman once told me, that she'd rather die than do something which she knew to be a sin or against God's will," Fleur said. "My crisis of faith came about because I no longer believe that they act in accordance with God's will."

"You know it's not fair for you to quote _me_ right after you quote Scripture," Sam replied, looking quite annoyed.

"Didn't you get the memo, Jeanne?" Fleur said laughing. "The Society doesn't play fair."

"Touché my friend," Sam said, laughing as well.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 **December 15** **th** **1998**

 **Meath, Ireland**

Bridget's sword-hand suddenly glowed purple and morphed into a massive hammer right before she struck. Arthur parried the strike, but wasn't expecting the force of a hammer strike. Excalibur went flying across the grassy field landing next to a tree.

"King Arthur," Bridget sneered, the hammer morphing into a mace. "You don't live up to the hype."

She brought the mace down on him, as he blocked with his arm. There was a sickening crack as the mace struck the arm. Arthur let out a grunt of pain, and then rolled out of Bridget's way.

His hand grasped Excalibur's sheath and a soft blue glow surrounded the once and future king. His broken arm visibly reset itself, becoming whole once more.

"Perhaps I spoke too soon," Bridget said.

"That is quite the interesting prosthetic," Arthur acknowledged, looking at her silver arm. He glanced towards Excalibur, as Bridget stood between him and his sword.

"Isn't it though?" she said smiling. "It's my first time testing it. I must admit, it does classic weapons well, but I wonder…"

Her arm began morphing and warping, becoming liquid and shifting in shape again. She raised her arm, now a grenade launcher, and smiled wickedly.

"I really like this arm," she said smiling. Three silver colored grenades flew out and landed at Arthur's feet, who looked down in horror.

 _To be continued…_


	2. The Sleeping Hunter

_**Cycles**_

 _Know, that I would accounted be_

 _True brother of a company_

 _That sang, to sweeten Ireland's wrong,_

 _Ballad and story, rann and song;_

 _Nor be I any less of them,_

 _Because the red-rose-bordered hem_

 _Of her, whose history began_

 _Before God made the angelic clan,_

 _Trails all about the written page._

 _When Time began to rant and rage_

 _The measure of her flying feet_

 _Made Ireland's heart begin to beat;_

 _And Time bade all his candles flare_

 _To light a measure here and there;_

 _And may the thoughts of Ireland brood_

 _Upon a measured quietude._

 _Nor may I less be counted one_

 _With Davis, Mangan, Ferguson,_

 _Because, to him who ponders well,_

 _My rhymes more than their rhyming tell_

 _Of things discovered in the deep,_

 _Where only body's laid asleep._

 _For the elemental creatures go_

 _About my table to and fro,_

 _That hurry from unmeasured mind_

 _To rant and rage in flood and wind;_

 _Yet he who treads in measured ways_

 _May surely barter gaze for gaze._

 _Man ever journeys on with them_

 _After the red-rose-bordered hem._

 _Ah, faeries, dancing under the moon,_

 _A Druid land, a Druid tune!_

 _While still I may, I write for you_

 _The love I lived, the dream I knew._

 _From our birthday, until we die,_

 _Is but the winking of an eye;_

 _And we, our singing and our love,_

 _What measurer Time has lit above,_

 _And all benighted things that go_

 _About my table to and fro,_

 _Are passing on to where may be,_

 _In truth's consuming ecstasy,_

 _No place for love and dream at all;_

 _For God goes by with white footfall._

 _I cast my heart into my rhymes,_

 _That you, in the dim coming times,_

 _May know how my heart went with them_

 _After the red-rose-bordered hem._

 _~~William Butler Yeats_

 **December 15** **th** **1998**

 **Meath, Ireland**

Arthur knew that to hesitate was death. He swung his sword scabbard like a cricket bat and batted the three grenades back towards the woman in rapid succession. She let out a yelp and dove out of the way just as they exploded.

Arthur took advantage of her momentary distraction and rushed over to grab his sword. But no sooner had he clasped it than another explosion went of right next to him, sending him flying.

He groaned, staggering to his feet, he noticed a chunk of silvery shrapnel embedded in his chest plate. His scabbard glowed softly, healing him of the minor injuries he'd picked up. Fortunately they were not too severe. The worse the injury, the longer the scabbard took to heal, and this was not a fight were he could stand by idly.

Not while they were still so close to Griff's stone form. Arthur immediately glanced over at his retainer, who fortunately remained untouched by the current scuffle.

For the time being anyway. But it was imperative that he lure her away as fast as he could. Arthur was confident that he could defeat this woman, despite her magical armament. What he was not confident of, was whether he could do it without Griff being damaged during the skirmish. For the first time in quite some time, Arthur was afraid.

"I have you now, British Dog," his assailant said, leveling the silver grenade launcher towards Arthur's chest.

Suddenly a golden colored flash of light struck her arm and sent her sprawling onto the ground. The grenade launcher glowed purple and reverted back into a hand. She scrambled to her feet, looking around wildly.

A loud Gaelic War cry rang out and the golden flash circled around again and struck the woman's silver arm again, attempting, but failing to knock it loose from her body.

Arthur and the woman turned towards the source of the war-cry. A man in his early twenties dressed in golden first century Irish armor. Arthur bristled. In his experience, Irish war-armor could be friend or foe.

"Well, well, well," the man said stepping closer to the fray. "If it isn't my old friend—and I do use that term very loosely—Bridget Malone. I'd heard you'd busted out of jail."

"YOU!" She shrieked.

"Me!" he responded mirthfully.

"I…Never caught your name. Don't remember sharing mine, either." She snapped.

"I read the newspaper the next day…or…My da did. That's how I caught your name. You've got quite the rap sheet you know."

"And you are?" Bridget

"Cú Chullain, reborn," he said. "At your service."

"You are the Legendary Irish Hero, Cú Chullain?" Arthur marveled. The Hero of Ulster was among the many legends Merlin had drilled into his head as a child.

"Believe it or not," Bridget said, clenching her silver fist. "I do believe you. I've seen too much lately to not. But you've made a grave error, Hero of Ulster. I am not your enemy. This man is. Arthur Pendragon. THE Arthur Pendragon. Here to conquer Ireland for the Brits."

"I _am_ Arthur Pendragon," Arthur said. "I make no secret of it. But my intentions on Irish soil are benign. I have no desire to conquer Ireland. I have no desire to conquer Britain!"

"Really?" Cú said, cocking his head at Arthur. "The King Arthur? Camelot, Excalibur, Merlin the whole deal?"

"The very same, though slightly without Merlin at the moment," Arthur said. "I seek him out. It is for this purpose I came to Ireland."

"You're not listening to me!" Bridget screamed. "This British dog has not right to stand on Irish soil! You're Ireland's greatest hero! You must help me defend our native land!"

"Lady, he wasn't even doing anything before you attacked him!" Cú countered. Although Rory was actually guessing on that point. He'd come running when he heard the grenades explode. But he was certain he had a pretty good grasp of Malone's _Modus Operandi._

Bridget raised her silver arm again, but then froze when she saw a black raven with a golden band around it's beak alight on Cú Chullain's shoulder.

She glanced over at the two legendary heroes. Then morphed her hand into grenade launcher again. Cú raised his spear, but she fired a smoke bomb into the grass between the two Legends, before turning and bolting.

Arthur tore off his trench coat and waved it like a massive fan, attempting to waft the smoke away.

"So," Cú said approaching Arthur. "Really King Arthur?"

Cú held out his hand in the warrior's handshake. Instinctively Arthur returned the clasp. Cú suddenly jerked back, shaking violently. His golden armor flickered for a moment, transforming into a new set of emerald green armor, with a green girdle and a silver pentacle inscribed on his now round shield. His chest plate had the same insignia that hung upon Arthur's own chest.

It was Arthur's turn to step back in shock.

"Gawain!?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Bridget staggered away. She thought that she could take Arthur, with some effort. She even felt sure that she might take down that treacherous Cú Chullain. But she felt she had a firm grasp of her own limitations. She could not take them both. Not if the legends surrounding them were even half-true.

She yelled angrily in frustration and morphed her hand into a S.C.A.R.A.B. Bazooka Class particle blaster. She fired angrily and raked the countryside in front of her.

"How am I supposed to fight two figures from the pages of mythology?" she demanded angrily.

She paused, noticing a gaping hole in one of the small hills that she had blasted with the Hand of Nuada.

"What is that?" she wondered. She approached the gaping hole.

"Ah-ah-ah," a voice from behind her said. "They'll be no going in there Miss Malone."

She spun around on her heels. Watson Doyle and Grace O'Malley stood behind her.

"That hill contains the Great Huntsman himself," Watson said. "We don't want a repeat of the incident that woke Arthur up too early. The Sleeping Hunter must remain so."

"You mean that's…" Bridget glanced over at the hole in the hill again.

"Yes dear," Grace said. "The whole reason we wanted you to bring us Arthur. We wouldn't want Arthur to do something to the Hunter under-the-Hill."

"He sleeps until Ireland's hour of greatest need." Watson said.

"I can't see a greater need than Ireland's great hero going turncoat and allying with a British dog!" Bridget declared, firing another smoke grenade at the two Illuminati, and diving for the hole.

"Ireland's greatest hero?" Watson demanded.

"He must mean…Oh no…He's supposed to be in Liscoo! He can't be _here!_ " O'Malley said. "I think we've made a grave miscalculation Doyle. We need to retreat."

Watson covered his mouth with his ascot, blocking the smoke. He glanced at the hill that Bridget Malone had gone into.

"Duval is not going to like this," he commented.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 **December 14** **th** **1998**

 _ **Sangral Fashion International HQ,**_ **Paris, France**

Fleur bit her lip as she looked over the Spring Line. She quickly and quietly began instructing the designers of the minor changes that she wanted. Sangral Fashions emphasized practical beauty. Designer pants for women that actually had pockets. Dress shirts for men that were actually comfortable, all while looking chic and trendy.

Fleur was so engrossed in her work, she didn't hear the man come up behind her.

"You always did have a talent for this sort of work," Duval said quietly.

Fleur spun around, a sneer that could melt steel on her face.

"Bugger off and get out of my building," she demanded.

"Two," he replied.

"Bugger. Off." Fleur replied.

"I didn't let him in, I swear," Sam said rushing to Fleur's side.

"Two," Duval repeated.

"Nine," Sam said. "Apologies sir, but you're not welcome in this building. If you don't leave, I'll be forced to call the police."

"At least someone here knows their place," Duval sneered.

"Yes sir, I am still a loyal Illuminatus, but unless you are here on Illuminati business, then I have to ask you to leave again."

"Your loyalty to both the organization and to your employer is admirable, but you know you can't serve two masters," Duval said.

"No sir, which is why I'd prefer not to have to choose."

"This is Illuminati business," Duval said. "Where is King Arthur?"

"What part of 'Bugger off' was particularly hard to grasp, Duval?" Fleur demanded. "You're not welcome in my company, and frankly, you're not even welcome in my life!"

"I know he's in Ireland," Duval said.

Fleur froze up for a moment. Duval was trying to throw her off guard. Trying to get her to say something incriminating.

She had only one chance to strike back…Only one way to throw him more off guard than he had done to her.

"I want a divorce," she said.

Duval stepped back in shock, his non-cybernetic eye widened in astonishment.

"You…Wouldn't dare!"

Fleur said nothing, simply glowered at him.

"No," he snapped, turning and storming off.

"Well," Sam said. "I certainly wasn't expecting that."

Fleur breathed a sigh of relief, before steadying herself on a nearby sewing station.

"Sam…" she said hesitantly.

"Security has already been fired for incompetence," she said. "And I'll arrange for-,"

"Sam!" Fleur said. "I can't ask you to remain with me anymore."

"Queen Blanchefleur," Sam replied. "I swore an oath of fealty to the Illuminati because you asked me to. So it is you I ultimately serve. Say the word and-,"

"No!" Fleur said. "I chose to follow Arthur of my own volition. I can't ask anyone else to take that risk. The company is yours now. I won't be back."

"If you're really going to do this," Sam said. "Then you need me. But not on the outside…You need me on the INSIDE. I can keep you abreast of developments within the Illuminati. I can be your eyes and ears inside."

"No Jeanne," Fleur said, switching to Sam's true name. "I will not ask that of you."

"Which is why I'm volunteering," Sam replied. "And besides, I already went to the trouble of setting up a secure email address you can use to keep tabs on Sangraal Fashions"

Fleur sighed.

"Jeanne, he won't touch me," Fleur replied. "But if you betray him? You'll wish you had been burned at the stake."

Sam leaned in close. "Best not to get caught then," she replied.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 **December 15** **th** **1998**

 **Meath, Ireland**

"Are you all right lad?" Arthur asked.

Rory Dugan groaned, sitting upright. He noticed immediately that he'd dropped his transformation, he was plain old Rory again.

Arthur reached out to help Rory up, when Molly slapped his hand away, and began signing furiously at him.

"I don't understand!" Arthur said, frustratedly.

"Neither do I," Rory said. "Molly slow down, you know I can't understand you when you sign that quickly!"

Molly stopped, closed her eyes and took a deep cleansing breath.

 _Don't. Touch. Him._

"Is…Is she saying something with her hands?" Arthur asked.

"Irish Sign Language," Rory said. "Molly is unable to speak normally, so she signs her words. I learned it on the fly."

"Why can she not speak?"

"If I knew myself," Rory said.

"What is she saying now?" Arthur asked.

"She says that I can't touch you." Rory replied.

"Why?" Arthur asked.

"I'd rather like to know that myself," Rory said.

 _You are a reincarnation,_ Molly signed. _But Rory was not your first time around. At some point in your past, you were reincarnated into one of King Arthur's Knights. I didn't know until the stupid rock said something._

 _"_ She says one of me past lives was…One of your knights," Rory said. "After Cú died…I was reborn as…"

"Gawain!" Arthur said. "My nephew! Sir Gawain…I thought you looked like him."

A splitting headache suddenly struck Rory and he clutched his head.

 _STOP!_ Molly signed frantically. _You are Cú Chullain reborn not G-a-w-a-i-n reborn! The human mind isn't built to hold the essence of multiple lives. This is why spirits who reincarnate have to forget their past lives. You were already pushing it with Rory_ and _Cú Chullain. Throw G-a-w-a-i-n into the mix and the strain might just kill you._

"Oh bloody hell," Rory commented. "She says if I try to remember being Gawain, that it could kill me."

 _His presence is making it worse,_ Molly said.

"I think I can guess that one," Arthur said quietly. "Being around me is making your mind attempt to remember being Gawain."

"Aye," Rory said quietly.

"I wish to help," Arthur said.

 _If he leaves, that would be the best thing for you,_ Molly signed.

 _I don't want him to leave,_ Rory signed back. Molly stopped and stared at her former boyfriend.

"Look…You heard what the stone said," Rory said, gesturing towards Arthur. "He could help me find what I've been looking for. He could even…"

 _Training schemes for hero work?_ Molly signed, rolling her eyes.

"Aye…That," Rory said.

 _G-a-w-a-i-n could kill you,_ Molly signed back.

 _Destiny,_ Rory signed in response.

Molly rubbed her temples.

 _Okay there might be a way,_ she relented. _But we're going to need to find a magic fish._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Bridget pushed aside a dozen cobwebs before she came to the vast chamber in the center of the hollowed hill.

Sitting on a massive throne, his head bowed down, was a massive bearded man. He was dressed in a simple tunic, and at either side of the throne was a stone barghest.

This took Bridget's breath away. She felt like she was standing in Hallowed Ground.

She stepped forward, and took a deep breath.

" _Fionn mac Cumhail,"_ she whispered. "You are needed."

Glowing green magical energy began to swirl around the sleeping hunter, and Bridget Malone smiled.

 _To be continued…_


	3. A Fishy Tale

_Hush now, my Storeen_

 _Close your eyes and sleep_

 _Waltzing the waves_

 _Diving the deep_

 _Stars are shining bright_

 _The wind is on the rise_

 _Whispering words of long lost lullabies_

 _Oh, won't you come with me?_

 _Where the moon is made of gold_

 _And in the morning sun_

 _We'll be sailing_

 _Oh, won't you come with me?_

 _Where the ocean meets the sky_

 _And as the clouds roll by_

 _We'll sing the song of the sea_

 _I had a dream last night_

 _And heard the sweetest sound_

 _I saw a great white light and dancers in the round_

 _Castles in the sand_

 _Cradles in the trees_

 _Don't cry, I'll see you by and by_

 _Oh, won't you come with me?_

 _Where the moon is made of gold_

 _And in the morning sun_

 _We'll be sailing_

 _Oh, won't you come with me?_

 _Where the ocean meets the sky_

 _And as the clouds roll by_

 _We'll sing the song of the sea_

 _Rolling, rolling_

 _Rolling, rolling_

 _Oh, won't you come with me?_

 _Where the moon is made of gold_

 _And in the morning sun_

 _We'll be sailing free_

 _Oh, won't you come with me?_

 _Where the ocean meets the sky_

 _And as the clouds roll by_

 _We'll sing the song of the sea_

 **December 15** **th** **1998**

 **Meath, Ireland**

Arthur, Rory and Molly sat by the riverbank, fishing poles in hand.

"So you're looking for Merlin then-," Rory started to say, when Molly smacked him on the back of the head. Rory grimaced, not from Molly's smack, but rather the splitting headache that was starting to form in his skull.

 _No questions, just fishing._ Molly signed.

"If you are both Cú Chullain as well as my former nephew-," Arthur started to wonder out loud, when Molly smacked the Once and Future King on the back of the head. Rory gripped his temples.

 _No questions, just fishing._ Molly repeated.

"What did she say?" Arthur inquired.

"No questions, just fishing," Rory replied in a monotone.

"If this fish is enchanted, how can we be certain that it will come to us?" Arthur wondered. He then winced, turning towards Molly. She did not attempt to smack him.

 _The Sleeping King, the reincarnation of Cú Chullain, and the Banshee are all sitting on a riverbank together,_ She signed, smirking. _It will be hard to keep it away._

"She says 'yes'," Rory translated. "Also I think questions about th' fish are fine. We're just not allowed to ask about…Gawa-AHHHH"

Rory clutched his head.

"It's getting worse," Rory said.

 _Stop being a dumbass, Rory,_ Molly signed.

"She wants me to leave it alone," Rory said shaking his head. "But how can I? It's not every day that a man finds out he's got two past lives."

 _You have more than two past lives, Rory,_ Molly signed. _You've cycled around several times. Cú Chullain and G-a-w-a-i-n were just some of the bigger names._

"Did you know me in my other lives?" Rory asked.

 _I never met G-a-w-a-i-n._ Molly signed.

"That didn't answer my question though," Rory said.

Molly made no effort to answer.

"Take that as a yes," Rory commented quietly.

"Your friend is of the Third Race, is she not?" Arthur asked.

 _Nosy,_ Molly signed.

"Is this fish also of the Third Race?" Arthur inquired.

Molly shook her head.

 _Yes…And no._ She signed.

"She says 'yes and no'," Rory said dryly. "Which I might point out is the same thing she said to me when I saw her true form for the first time."

Molly gave him a dirty look.

"So…What is it then?" Arthur asked.

Molly signed a single word.

"Complicated," Rory translated.

Rory glanced over at Arthur. The headache began to grow.

"How long will this take?" Arthur wondered.

Molly began signing.

"Probably most of the day," Rory said translated as she signed. He paused suddenly frowning at something Molly signed. "What do you mean SEVEN YEARS?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 **December 14** **th** **1998**

 _ **Sangral Fashion International HQ,**_ **Paris, France**

Fleur stepped out of the building, and walked boldly across the street to where Duval stood.

"Two," he said again.

"And that is why I want the divorce," Fleur said.

"Where is Arthur?" Duval demanded.

"Ireland," Fleur smirked. "I thought you knew."

"You can't have Arthur mucking about in Illuminati business. We've worked too hard for too long. Our plans were laid down centuries ago."

"Quit talking like I'm still part of your damned organization, Duval," Fleur said. "I'm not playing your little games anymore."

"Do you realize what you are doing?" Duval demanded. "You know the power that we wield!"

"And the lives that you've destroyed," Fleur said. "I'll have no more of it. This ends now."

"Peredur will be very disappointed." Duval sneered.

Fleur reached up and patted Duval patronizingly on the cheek. "Make sure you smile when you show him the Divorce Papers."

Duval snarled and grabbed Fleur's wrist. She sneered back at him.

"If Arthur attempts to move against us," Duval said. "We will destroy him."

Fleur burst out laughing.

"What is so funny?" Duval demanded. Fleur lifted up her foot and scrapped her leather boot down the side of Duval's shin, forcing him to let go of her hand as he cried out in pain.

"Arthur Pendragon will destroy you, Duval," Fleur said, turning around and walking back towards her building. "The Illuminati don't stand a chance."

"You haven't even been able to find him in two years since he returned," Fleur said. "Imagine what happens when he raises Excalibur against you."

"Excalibur?! He's found Excalibur?"

"It was the very first thing that he did, Duval," Fleur said, calmly opening the gate. "Fifteen hundred years and you couldn't find one sword, Arthur found it in five hours."

"Don't be foolish, Fleur!" Duval demanded again. "Don't turn your back on me Fleur."

"Good luck, Duval," Fleur said, locking the gate. "You will need it."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 **December 15** **th** **1998**

 **Meath, Ireland**

Griff roared awake sending shards of stone skin flying. The first thing that he noticed was that he was not alone.

"Hullo there beautiful," Griff said, bending down and petting Barghest who had awakened by his side. The two of them sat upon the bed of the Lorry that Arthur had rented when they had arrived in Belfast. A large fire was crackling away in a nearby firepit.

"Now where did you come from?" Griff wondered out loud.

"Was rather hoping that you might be able to tell me that yourself," Rory said walking back to the truck. Barghest immediately leapt off of the vehicle and bounded over to Rory's side.

"I'm Rory by the way," he said.

"Griff," the gargoyle replied, taking in his surroundings. They appeared to be parked not far from when he had turned to stone, near a riverbank. "Where's Arthur?"

"Down by the riverbank with my…friend, Molly," Rory said. "We're trying to catch a magic fish."

Griff blinked. "You know, that's not even a weird sentence to me anymore."

Rory chuckled. "I know the feeling."

Rory paused awkwardly for a moment, unsure how to broach the subject with the British gargoyle. Finally he figured he ought to just go for it.

"So…Did Barghest come from your clan?" Rory asked as they made their way down to the riverbank. Griff immediately took stock of Arthur and a young woman with pink hair sitting next to a trio of fishing poles.

"Ah, no," Griff said. "I'm afraid that the London Clan hasn't had beasts for…Quite some time."

"Shame," Rory said sighing as they sat down by the Riverbank.

"So…Can I ask who you are?" Griff said.

"The answer to that seems to be complicated at the moment, and if I try to answer Molly will smack me in the back of the head," Rory said.

"Rory here appears to be the reincarnation of the legendary hero Cú Chullain," Arthur said quietly. "As well as my nephew Gawain."

Rory suddenly winced and clutched his head. Molly immediately smacked Arthur.

"Apologies Milady, Rory," Arthur said. "I was simply attempting to get Sir Griff up to speed."

"Apparently I can't handle remembering more than one past life, and attempting to do so will kill me, so we need th' magic fish."

"Of course," Griff said. He reached up and petted Barghest.

"And where did this lovely beast come into the picture?" Griff inquired.

"I…Let's say found her egg, and raised her since she hatched," Rory said. "I don't know where the egg came from though. I hoped you might have some insight there."

"Well," Griff scratched his beak. "She looks rather like one of the Manhattan Clan's beasts. A lot like him in fact. But I know for a fact that they only have two."

"I did notice the similarities myself," Rory commented. Though he'd never caught Goliath's name or clan of origin, it became fairly obvious later that year when the Manhattan Clan was revealed in New York.

Griff snapped his fingers. "Goliath's got a sister-clan on the enchanted isle of Avalon though!"

Molly winced, something Rory noticed immediately.

"They have three beasts in that clan," Arthur said. "Boudicca, Gathelus, and Scota. Gathelus and Scota are old enough to have had an egg in their rookery…Though how it wound up in Ireland remains a mystery."

"Avalon," Rory repeated. "Where you were supposed to have slept until…"

"Yes," Arthur said. "I awoke early."

"And I'd suppose that the Irish Celts called the isle Tír na nÓg?" Rory said, giving Molly the stink-eye.

"They did," Arthur said.

"And suddenly all of the pieces click into place," Rory said, shaking his head at Molly. "Cu Roy called you a sneaky little thief."

"Cu Roy?" Griff snapped his head around. "That's one of the titles that the Green Knight used when he tested me? And he did mention something about a 'pup' in Ireland."

Rory rolled his eyes. "That sounds—"

Molly suddenly grabbed Rory's arm and began tapping it rapidly. A massive cerulean blue salmon, as thick as a car and ten feet long was now surging into the shallows of the riverbank.

"Look at that," Arthur marveled, leaping to his feet. "Less than Seven Years."

"Big Fish," Griff commented. He, Arthur, and Rory rushed into the water and hauled the magic salmon onto the shore. The giant blue fish glowed brightly, and then shrank down to a foot long in size. Rory quickly snatched it up before it could flop back into the water.

 _We cook it, and Rory eats it,_ Molly said. _And you'll be able to remember both lives without the dying._

"Not dying is ideal," Rory said. "Molly says if I cook it and eat it, I can remember both lives without dying."

"Well that's a shame, boy," a voice declared. "Because I can't let you do that. That's _my_ salmon there. And I'll not have traitors eating it on my watch."

Rory, Arthur, Griff and Molly turned towards the sound of the new voice. Barghest began gowling softly.

A warrior in a fifth century Irish hunting garb stood next to the lorry. A long silver wolfskin cloak hung off of his back, an ivory hunting horn dangled at his side, and he had a bow and quiver full of arrows slung over his shoulders. He looked young, if you didn't notice that his long beard and hair were silver-white. Emerald green eyes sparkled in the firelight as he surveyed the group.

Two more gargoyle beasts bounded up to his side. The first one was male, dark purple with an oddly jagged gold-colored horn jutting out of his forehead, it offered a low growl to the group.

The second was emerald green, with long gold horns like an oryx that swept backwards over her head. The striking combination of red, green, and gold made Rory think of Christmas when he looked at her.

"Fionn mac Cumhaill?!" Arthur exclaimed in shock. "You are alive?"

"Hello Pendragon," he chuckled. "Long time no see."

"Fionn McWhoNow?" Griff asked.

"You know this guy?" Rory wondered. Molly looked around suspiciously, before quietly taking the salmon from Rory's hand, and slowly backing away.

"Fionn mac Cumhaill," Arthur repeated for Griff's benefit.

"Sometimes called Finn MacCool," Rory offered helpfully.

"Was an Irish Hunter of some notoriety," Arthur replied. "He invited several members of my court to come hunting with him back during my original reign."

"That was a _fun_ hunting trip," Finn MacCool chuckled.

"Not for them," Arthur countered.

"Regardless," Finn said. "I can't let you keep the salmon. British dogs aren't worthy of its power."

"It's not for me," Arthur commented. "Rory is a native born Irishman."

"Didn't the Roman-British poet Taliesin also eat this salmon?" Griff commented. Arthur and Rory glanced at Griff. "What? My clan runs a magic shop. You think I haven't heard of the Salmon of Wisdom?"

"Traitors are the same as British," Finn said, explaining this as if he was explaining to a baby.

"Fionn," Arthur said stepping forward. "Listen to me. The world has changed now. This is not Ireland, but a far larger stage."

"I don't CARE" Finn snapped. "The other nations can do as they please. I care only for the fate of Ireland."

"That is extremely short-sighted," Arthur snapped, then backtracked. "Fionn, please listen to reason. We need not be enemies."

"When every British dog has been removed from my native Irish Soil," Finn replied. "Then I will turn my attention to the larger stage you speak of Pendragon. Until then, however: Bran, Sceolan, ATTACK!"

The two beasts bounded forward, rushing towards the group.

"I really hate to do this," Griff said, cocking his Lightning Gun. "Especially to beasts as gorgeous as you two. Nevertheless…"

Griff fired at the green-colored female as Barghest snarled and slammed into the purple and gold colored male.

Rory slammed his staff down and transformed into Cú Chullain. His armor then flickered into that of Gawain. Then back into Cú Chullain again.

"ARRRGH!" he staggered, before reverting to Rory again.

"Perhaps it is best if you don't transform right now," Arthur said. "Not while your spirit is so torn."

Finn MacCool chuckled.

"Lady Malone," he said. "Would you care to deal with the Fallen Hound whilst I hunt down the Pendragon?"

"With pleasure, Lord mac Cumhail," Bridget said, stepping around from the other side of the lorry.

She raised her hand and it warped into the shape of a chainsaw.

"Oh bloody hell," Rory yelped, diving out of the way as she rushed towards him.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Molly watched the fight with interest as she cooked the salmon over the flames. Fish typically don't take much time to cook, but she had to be careful with the salmon. If anything else besides Rory consumed its flesh, then he would have lost his only chance.

Fortunately no one was paying attention to her. Arthur and Finn MacCool were locked in hand to hand combat. Finn had the advantage in terms of battle skill, but was armed with a hunting knife and a bow and arrows. Arthur on the other hand had Excalibur.

Griff was trying to scare the gargoyle beast who was attacking him by distinctly and definitely NOT shooting her.

Barghest, on the other hand, was not holding back against the other beast. She snarled and scratched at her attacker and was clearly trying to end him with prejudice.

And Rory was attempting to avoid being julienned by the madwoman with a chainsaw for a hand.

Not for the first time, Molly lamented the loss of her voice. Not just the loss of her siren song, but the limitations that this imposed upon her magic, being unable to cast spells.

And then the fish was done. She wasn't sure how she knew, she just knew it was finished. Grabbing it off of the spit, and wrapping it in aluminum foil she lunged towards Rory and transformed.

She transformed into a seahawk, gripping the fish in her talons. A gold band sealing her beak closed. She dove past the fray and smacked into the back of Rory's head. Her body glowed as she resumed human form. Rory caught the still-hot fish in his right hand.

"Ow!" he yelped.

 _Eat it!_ Molly signed as she transformed into a massive heifer with a golden muzzle, and she charged into Bridget, catching her both off-guard, and winding her at the same time.

"Stopping to take a lunch break in th' middle of battle," Rory grumbled. He bit down on the fish. It was delicious, which was probably the most surprising part. Instantly the headache vanished.

Still taking bites of the fish, he slammed his staff against the earth. He glowed and transformed into Cú Chullain once more. No more flickering armor. He was solidly the Hero of Ulster again. In fact…He couldn't remember anything of Gawain at all.

 _That was…Not what I expected…_ Rory thought as he gobbled down the last of the salmon. He tossed the head aside. It suddenly glowed and transformed into a hazelnut tree sapling.

"Also not what I expected," Cú said, frowning.

"This altercation is over now," Finn declared, Rory realized that the fabled hunter was glaring at him.

"But we haven't beaten the British dogs!" Bridget complained.

"No," Finn replied. "But we lost the salmon. And that's more important. Besides…Pendragon's heart isn't in this fight. I want a truly glorious battle with the Once and Future King of the Britons! Not a half-hearted slapping contest."

"What does it matter, so long as we win?" Bridget argued.

"Because there's no sport in it unless it's won fairly," Finn said shaking his head. "Besides. I have only just awoken. I am not at full strength, and neither are my hounds. We must regroup…And fight another day."

"But!"

"Don't argue with me!" Finn yelled. He whistled sharply. The two beasts bounded back up the hill to his side. Bridget found herself suddenly surrounded by Cú Chullain, King Arthur, Griff, Barghest, and a full grown heifer. She grunted in frustration but then launched out another smoke bomb before darting up the hill after Finn.

Molly shapeshifted back into human form. _Those two were made for each other,_ she signed.

"I dunno," Rory said, transforming back, himself. "Should we just let them leave?"

"I think that we need to take this one as a draw," Griff commented.

"I agree," Arthur said. "Not all battles are won all at once. So…Rory Dugan? Do you remember your life as my nephew?"

"I don't, actually," Rory said, shaking his head. "It's like…All the Gawain stuff is blocked now. I can't remember anything."

"Curious," Arthur commented.

 _Have faith in the fish,_ Molly signed. _It knows what it is doing._

"I think you're the reason I was called to the Lía Fáil though," Rory said.

"And I think that you were the reason that the Green Knight directed us here," Griff said.

"Then we are well met, my friends," Arthur said.

Rory sucked in a deep breath.

"Oh what the hell, why not? King Arthur, would you and your friend like to join Molly an my da in Liscoo for Breakfast-slash-dinner?"

"As long as it's not fish," Arthur chuckled. "We would be honored."

Rory whistled and Barghest bounded over to his side. They began making their way back towards their vehicles, Arthur gently grabbed Griff's shoulder and held him back.

"Sir Griff," Arthur asked quietly. "He is the reincarnation of my nephew. I'm afraid I have no objectivity here."

"I think that anyone who the Green Knight feels is worth our attentions," Griff said. "Is well…worth our attentions."

"Agreed," Arthur said. The two looked over at Rory thoughtfully.

"Da's not going to believe this," Rory said chuckling. Molly smirked back.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 **December 15** **th** **1998**

 **Paris, France**

Samantha Clemens stood underneath the eaves of Notre Dame Cathedral, quietly waiting as the rain poured down in Paris.

"Two," Duval said, stepping seemingly out of nowhere. It actually made Sam jump.

"Nine," she declared.

Duval looked expectant.

"She bought it," Sam said uncomfortably. "She now believes that I will serve her and her new-She thinks that I will now spy on the Illuminati for her."

"But in truth, you will spy on her for us," Duval said.

"That is the arrangement," Sam confirmed.

"Good," Duval said. "Clearly Arthur needs to be put in his place. We've worked far too long and hard to let him ruin everything that we've built."

"Do you speak of the Illuminati?" Sam wondered. _Or something else,_ she added silently.

"Be certain to let me know when she leaves Paris. You can't stay hidden from me forever Arthur. My grip is too tight,' Duval chuckled. "Good day, Lady D'Arc."

Jeanne watched Duval vanish into the pouring rain, and pondered how interesting it was that the Paris skies so often matched her moods.

 _ **Never The End…**_


	4. End Credits

With the voice talents of

 **Neil Dickson- Griff**

 **Rhona Mitra- Fleur**

 **John St. Ryan- King Arthur Pendragon**

 **Andrew Lee-Potts- Liam**

 **Alan Cumming- Staghart**

 **Zoë Wanamaker- Constance**

 **Jonathan Hyde- Leonidas**

 **Sinead O'Conner- Grace O'Malley**

 **David S Lee- Watson Doyle**

 **Scott Cleverdon- Rory Dugan/Cú Chullain/Gawain**

 **Colm Meaney- Mr. Dugan**

 **Frank Welker- Barghest, Stone of Destiny, Bran, Sceolan**

 **Kari Wahlgren - Samantha Clemens/Jeanne D'Arc**

 **Eddie Marsan- Duval**

 **Jennifer Hale- Bridget Malone**

 **Jason O'Mara- Lugaid Red-Stripe, Finn MacCool**

 _Special Thanks to Algernon for the use of his Original Characters and Heroes of Ulster Concepts._

 _As well as thanks to GregX, Algernon, and Masterdramon for sharing this Universe with me._

 _Gargoyles is property of Greg Weisman and the Walt Disney Corporation_


End file.
